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To Brent,
on catching a quarter century of my misspellings
An emperor ought to die standing.
—VESPASIAN
June 23, AD 79
as reported by Suetonius,
THE LIVES OF THE TWELVE CAESARS
Historian’s Note
The main events of this story begin in late 2257, after the conclusion of the Federation-Klingon War and Lieutenant James T. Kirk’s assignment to the U.S.S. Farragut.
The Prime Universe events of the overture take place in 2233, during Philippa Georgiou’s posting on U.S.S. Archimedes. The Mirror Universe events of the prologue take place more than twenty years later, in the weeks before the christening of I.S.S. Charon and Gabriel Lorca’s betrayal of Emperor Georgiou.
Overture THE OFFICER AND THE EMPEROR
With bronze as a mirror, one can correct his appearance; with history as a mirror, one can understand the rise and fall of a state. With good men as a mirror, one can see whether he is right or wrong…
—EMPEROR TAIZONG OF TANG,
Earth, 643
Never turn your back to a Terran, regardless of station—for inside every one of us is an emperor waiting to rule. I started as an educator. The lesson I teach today: it only takes one Terran to turn reality upside down, and change the future…
—EMPEROR HOSHI SATO,
Terra, 2155
1
2233
U.S.S. Archimedes
NEAR THE TAGANTHA SYSTEM
“This isn’t the Kobayashi Maru, Captain. This is real!”
“I know the difference,” the captain snarled. “Now take your seat.”
Lieutenant Philippa Georgiou sat down, but that didn’t mean she would stand down. There were living beings on the freighter far ahead of Starship Archimedes, and they were in distress. The panic in the voices that had hailed her vessel sounded genuine—and the life signs the young officer was seeing on her display were waning.
That was reason enough to help, except for the added complication: where the freighter in question happened to be. Georgiou appealed to the navigator. “When will they reach the boundary?”
“The contact is eight hundred thousand kilometers inside the 2183 line,” came the response. The dusky mess that was the Tagantha star system served as one point defining the border. “Freighter is still heading this way, but down to a crawl now.”
“Gotcha,” Captain Eagan said. “Keep watching—and hailing. Maybe they’re just in a sleep cycle. I know what my life signs look like after a double shift.”
A lot about Rodolfo Eagan rubbed Georgiou the wrong way; the worst was his way of trivializing important things. Dark eyes looked down as she fought for the right words. “Captain, they might not live long enough to reach the line.”
“You don’t know that.” The fortyish Eagan clutched the armrests of his command chair and leaned forward, squinting at the vessel on the main viewscreen. “We’re at the absolute edge of sensor range given the dust out there. We can’t even tell who they are from this distance.”
“They’ve asked for help.”
“But they won’t tell us what’s wrong.” The captain looked back to Georgiou. “What we do know is the Federation agreed half a century ago not to approach space claimed by the natives of this region—no exceptions, not even for Good Samaritans. The residents do not want us there.”
“Maybe they would, if we helped them.” Georgiou looked up and gestured to the comm station. “It’s possible that freighter is a visitor here, just like us. The language in the hail was Orion—and the ship looks like one of their older models.”
“No sale, Lieutenant. The freighter in the Kobayashi Maru test looks convincing too—all the better to get you into trouble. Treaties are treaties. We’re clearly at the heliopause here. Where this system begins, our options end.”
All sorts of responses entered Georgiou’s mind. That failing to act also wasn’t the correct answer in the new-but-already-infamous test. Or that the so-called treaty with the locals was nothing of the sort: a real agreement would require one or more of the three reclusive but reportedly warp-capable powers to actually emerge from their interstellar hideaway to negotiate. It was nothing more than a unilateral declaration of borders, transmitted decades before from all three with an “or else” attached.
But Georgiou knew none of that was going to work on Eagan, who’d brought Archimedes to the region chasing a wayward comet. He wasn’t a bad captain, but neither was he the one she was supposed to have. Starfleet had a habit of calling back officers for training in new technologies; it was the turn of the true captain of Archimedes. Eagan had spent most of his career in biology labs aboard research vessels that never left orbit, and his temporary posting aboard Archimedes had already exposed the extent to which he was ill-prepared to deal with the eventualities of deep space.
And matters of life and death.
“Help… us,” crackled the low voice over the comm, sounding much weaker than before. “You… must…”
She watched Eagan as the words struck him—and as his return hails again went unanswered. He seemed shaken.
He isn’t made of stone, she decided; maybe he just needs some help.
The captain turned to face her. “They tell me you do everything by the book, Lieutenant. So figure out a way to use it.”
Georgiou pursed her lips—and thought. After a few moments, she perked up. “What if you don’t cross the boundary with a ship?”
Eagan looked at her. “How’s that again?”
“They’ll be at the outer edge of transporter range soon.”
“Ah, I gotcha. And no, they won’t be—not at the rate they’re slowing down.”
“Then I’ll beam as far as I can in an EVA suit and jet the rest of the way.” Georgiou stood, forgetting Eagan’s earlier order to stay seated. “I can at least check it out, Captain. If they’re coming to us for help, maybe they just need a hand on the bridge who can fire the thrusters.”
“A one-person cutting-out expedition?” Eagan looked back at her and scowled. “You’re describing piracy. What if they don’t want to cross the border?”
“I can ask. As long as there’s still someone to ask.”
“I don’t think we can get away with that. It’s an interstellar boundary. You’re a Starfleet officer, a representative of the Federation—”
“I’ll resign my commission,” she said, shivering a little after she heard her own words. “For the day, anyway.”
“A fig leaf won’t work,” Eagan said, more loudly. “Someone here has to press the control to beam you over there.”
“I’ll do it. I’m rated for the transporter.”
&nb
sp; “Right, because the last thing you want in a mutineer is someone who isn’t checked out on the equipment.” The captain didn’t hide his amusement. “You’re everything I was told you were, Lieutenant. If there were a medal for persistence, you’d—”
The navigator interrupted. “Orion freighter has come to a stop, Captain.”
The voice on the comm, already softening, went silent.
Georgiou looked to the ship on the viewscreen—and back at Eagan.
“Go,” he said, looking to the overhead in a hapless shrug. “Before I change my mind.”
“Thank you, Captain!” Excited, she began walking. At the turbolift, she paused and turned. “Just to be clear, I have to resign in this plan.”
“Forget that part. I don’t need the bureaucratic hassle. Just be careful. If you wind up in the slave mines of wherever-it-is, don’t say I didn’t warn you!”
* * *
Engineering was one of Georgiou’s areas of expertise, but even her talents had not been enough to get Archimedes’ systems to transport her close to the stalled Orion ship. She’d had plenty of time while accelerating and then decelerating her jet pack to study the vessel, which had come to a stop in a hazy region of gas that made details difficult to resolve. She’d noted what looked like two exhaust vents ahead of the warp manifold—but those seemed odd, facing forward rather than aft. At another point, the bridge section had momentarily gone blurry, as if something had been expelled. Had there been a rupture, releasing the ship’s atmosphere?
After landing on the vessel and manually cycling the airlocks, she understood why no one had answered her hails on approach. The ship’s crew consisted of Orions, humans, and members of another species she didn’t recognize, all with one thing in common. They were dead. If the hails had suggested that the occupants suffered lingering deaths, it was now apparent that many met their demise more quickly, expiring wherever they were. Some were still in their chairs, pained expressions frozen on their faces; others lay slumped on the decks. The shaft with the ladder had five bodies bunched in a clump at the bottom.
Horrific.
Her pace quickened. After checking the environmental seals on her spacesuit, she hurried to the bridge—and the comm system. Her public address message yielded no responses from anyone on board, so Georgiou put it to another use: calling Archimedes.
“I want you back immediately,” Eagan said after hearing her report. “No arguments this time.”
“Going by the book again, Captain, I need to get at least some information about what happened here.” She’d first studied the air with her tricorder; she’d moved on to examining one of the corpses strewn across the bridge. “I can’t return without knowing what my detox procedure should—”
Eagan interrupted. “Lieutenant, look out!”
Still kneeling, Georgiou had no idea exactly where she was supposed to look—until she saw the answer outside the ports. One vessel after another dropped out of warp, some arriving from aft, others appearing ahead. Commercial freighters, several of which bore gun emplacements: armed merchant ships. No match for Archimedes, she thought. But so many at once were likely to send Eagan into a paroxysm.
Indeed, the captain was emphatically repeating his call for her to get out when transporter effects shimmered all about. Bipedal figures in rust-colored environment suits surrounded her, their heads obscured by darkened faceplates. Georgiou stood, only to take a boot in her stomach from the nearest invader. She managed to keep from falling backward, but her tricorder clattered away on the deck.
A second assault came from behind. As ungainly as her spacesuit was, Georgiou was able to marshal a defense, turning and exploiting momentum to put her lunging attacker flat onto the deck. An additional figure joined the scrum, and Georgiou briefly caught a glimpse of the intruder who’d kicked her readying a weapon. She winced at the sound of disruptor fire—
—until she realized the shot had come, instead, from the weapon of another space-suited arrival, standing in the accessway to the bridge. His suit was different from the others’, burgundy to their rust—and his disruptor blast, she saw, had been directed at the overhead. “What goes on here?” said a deep male voice, doubtlessly human.
“She was kneeling over a corpse!” The attacker who had started the fight, a female judging from her voice, gestured toward her.
“I had nothing to do with this,” Georgiou said. “I’m here to help.”
“To help yourself, you mean.” The woman pointed her disruptor in Georgiou’s face. “Say good-bye!”
2
Orion Derelict
TAGANTHA SYSTEM
The newcomer in the doorway laughed—a hearty bellow that echoed across the bridge. “A looter? I don’t think so, Zee. That’s a Starfleet suit.”
“So?” the gun wielder snapped. “Is that supposed to mean something?”
“No, but this does,” he said, tapping the barrel of his disruptor on the wings etched in gold relief on his left shoulder. “Back off.”
At least I can tell who’s boss, Georgiou thought as her attackers stepped away from her. The newcomer strode to the center of the bridge. If the insignia he wore wasn’t familiar, the piece of equipment he held next was.
“Your tricorder,” she said. “It’s of Federation manufacture.”
“A knock-off, actually. But imitate the best,” he replied, consulting its results before putting it away. “It tells me it’s safe to do this.” Pressing a control on his collar, he removed his helmet to reveal a ruddy-skinned male of thirty or so with a mane of thick, black hair. Wide brown eyes looked past her to an object on the deck. “Give me her tricorder.”
Georgiou stared at him as one of his companions reluctantly fetched the device and handed it to him. After a few moments’ examination, he handed it to her. “Here you go.”
Glancing at its readings, she tilted her head and looked at him. “You seem certain it’s safe. Do you know what happened here?”
His nose twitched as he stepped between the bodies. “These poor souls will get pungent a bit later, but it’s all right for now. And as for what happened—I can guess.”
Whatever he guessed he did not immediately share. Instead, he looked over to the comm system, where Eagan was still chattering to no one: “…new contacts, be advised! We will not cross the boundary, but a Starfleet officer will be exiting the Orion ship and making her way toward Archimedes as her fuel allows.” A pause. “Lieutenant Georgiou, do you hear that? This mercy mission is over!”
The invaders’ boss looked to Georgiou, intrigued. “You came here alone. This was your idea?”
“Coming here was my idea.” She pointed to the comm panel. “Coming here alone was theirs.”
“Interesting.” He processed that for a moment. Then he made for the comm interface, where he worked the controls quickly. “Archimedes, is it? This is Trademaster Quintilian, currently aboard the Jadama Rohn. Those barges you’re looking at are from the Veneti Corporation, licensed for commercial activity in this region. Your officer is unharmed, but do not approach. Repeat: do not approach.” He flashed her a smile. “We’ll sort this out in a minute.”
“Finally, a response!” Eagan sounded flustered. “Let me speak with Georgiou! I insist that you immediately—”
“My word’s good,” Quintilian said, shutting off the comm. He turned to face her. “You know my name now—only one I’ve got. And I take it you’re Georgiou.”
“Philippa,” she answered, without knowing why. “So you’re not with the Triple Compact?”
“The—?” He thought for a moment. “Oh, yes—that’s what the Federation calls the natives here.” He chuckled. “That implies a bit more agreement than exists. I just call them the Troika.”
“Troika it is.” She studied her readings again. “These people suffered some kind of attack—I need a medical tricorder to tell. You’re sure it’s safe to breathe?”
“Calculating risks is my business.” Quintilian stepped over and knelt beside a
gray-bearded Orion corpse, already pale with death. With a gloved hand, he gently turned the figure’s head from left to right. “I was afraid of that. It’s old Vercer.”
“You know him?”
“I did. Former pilot of ours who cut out on his own, with some friends. My convoy was in the neighborhood when his distress call went out. They were transporting something they shouldn’t have—and it disagreed with them.”
Her eyebrow went up. “A weapon of some kind?”
“It’s a little more mundane—a recreational drug, highly toxic. I guess you could call it a weapon of self-destruction.” He closed the Orion corpse’s eyes and shook his head. “He was a friend, once. I hate to see this.”
Georgiou frowned. “Successful drug smugglers don’t often use their own product. Least of all an entire crew at once.”
“These aren’t drugs you’re familiar with. The species of the Troika aren’t built like humans—or Orions. Some of their ‘relaxants’ could kill you if you as much as got near an open vial. I’m thinking that happened here—probably belowdecks. But the substance is no longer active.” He gestured to his companions, whose number had grown to nine as more had entered. “Go ahead, show her.”
More helmets came off, revealing a mix of species: humans, Tellarites, Antarans—and a couple of Orions, who averted their gaze from the victims on the deck. Only the individual who had kicked Georgiou earlier remained helmeted, disruptor still in hand. “Quintilian, this is none of her business.”
“I want her to see that it’s not our business, Zee. I run a clean operation. We’re not smugglers, and we’re not pirates.” He stood and looked to Georgiou, eyes earnest. “You’ve probably noticed already there’s nothing to steal.”
Okay. Convinced, she removed her helmet and took a breath.
Quintilian’s face lit up, the man pleased to have won her trust.
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